Mr Mason Takes a Secretary
by organanation
Summary: A customer wanders in to the diner where Della Street waits tables. A girl in plaid wanders in to the law library where Perry Mason is studying for the bar exam. Paul Drake knows everyone and flirts with them, too.
1. Chapter 1

_AN: There's no such thing as too many meet-cutes! Please enjoy and shoot me a review if you liked it!_

Della Street adjusted her apron and checked the coffee pot. The diner had been quiet for most of the day, and she was dreading the rest of her three hour shift.

The bell over the door tinkled, and Della called out the customary greeting. She glanced out of the kitchen to see where the customer had chosen to sit.

She recognized him. He was friends with Paul Drake, who was currently dating his way through her class at the secretarial school. She didn't know this man's name, but she'd seen him with his fair share of her classmates, too. Playboys, Paul's friends, every last one of them.

Such a shame, too...he was very handsome, and she had spent more than a few evenings at one of Paul's parties, wishing she could be the object of this man's attention purely because he seemed so dark and mysterious. Paul had never introduced them before.

Looked like she was about to have a whole evening to figure him out...what if he was a wolf?

"Just coffee, please," he murmured when she came up to the table. He had a leather folio spread open in front of him with sheets and sheets of lined yellow paper covered in tight scrawl organized around him in neat stacks.

Della nodded and returned a few minutes later with a steaming cup. "Cream or sugar?"

The man nodded absently, shuffling the papers. Della wasn't really sure what the vague waving of his head meant, but he picked up the cup and started drinking it black, so she didn't bother with the creamer or sugar bowl.

A group walked in through the door just then, taking Della's attention from the man. His coffee cup was empty the next time she passed, and she refilled it as she brought out another order. He seemed so lost in his own world that he didn't notice.

Other customers filtered in and out, and Della just kept faithfully filling the man's coffee cup.

In quiet moments, she watched him as he dutifully worked his way through the stacks of yellow pages. His brow would crease and his free hand would come up to thumb his lip in concentration.

Once, she watched his hand wave around absently over the table, searching for the mug. She tugged at the cuff of his sleeve until his knuckles brushed the ceramic. He looked up at her in surprise, the first time he'd made eye contact with her since he'd come in.

"Everything alright over here?" she asked.

"I'll take a slice of pie. Apple, if you have it. Warm, a la mode, please?" he requested with a polite, hopeful smile.

"I'll warn you that the cook was out of time to make all the pies this morning, so I helped him with the apple," Della replied.

"Any reason I shouldn't trust you?" he asked.

Della smiled in spite of herself. "I'll let you be the judge of that." He chuckled like she'd just referenced some sort of inside joke.

She cut an extra-wide slice of pie and heated it before dropping a few scoops of vanilla ice cream onto it. When she returned to the table, he'd closed his folio and was staring intently at the ceiling.

"...in which the party of the second part-Thank you, miss-will notify the party of the first part within not more than twenty-four hours…" he mumbled.

"Do you mind if I ask what you're doing?" Della asked, wiping down the table adjacent to his.

"Studying for an exam. Law library is closed for repainting," he answered, taking a bite of the pie. "This is quite delightful," he added, pointing at the dessert.

"Thank you," she replied with a smile.

He took another bite and stared again at the ceiling, his lips moving soundlessly over the words he was trying to remember. Della forced herself not to stare as she continued to bus tables.

A few minutes before closing, he stood and smiled warmly at her.

"Thank you," he said, leaving cash on the table. Della waved as he left the diner.

He was hardly a mystery man anymore, but she wanted even more now to spend an evening with him.

Della flipped the 'Open' sign to 'Closed'.

She was nothing if not resourceful. She'd find him. The first place to look? The library at the law school.

00

The law library was silent as a tomb except for the turning of dusty pages. Perry Mason was eight hours into research for his term paper and the coffee that was available in paper cups was no longer doing the trick to keep him alert. Trying to regain the focus that was his signature, he looked around the library.

Two people poring over the same book, heads close together as they scribbled notes on their own pads. In the corner, someone was writing furiously, occasionally pausing to leaf through pages of hand-written notes. One of his classmates was leaning out the window, observing the green below, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

Beyond a long table lit with green glass lamps, searching through the stacks of congressional materials, was a slender woman with short, dark hair. She was far too young to be a law student. Perry himself was the youngest in his class at 27, and the young woman in the stacks couldn't be more than 20, 22 at most.

He watched as she plucked a huge volume from the shelf and opened it to the index at the back. She ran a finger down the page until she found what she wanted and then flipped into the middle of the book.

There was something…something about her. He had the same feeling he had during their mock trials in class, the moment when he knew he'd found the culprit. There was something utterly familiar about her, like he'd known her forever and would know at any time or in any place. Still, there was something unreadable, too…something he wanted nothing more than to discover.

A satisfied smile played across her lips as she snapped the volume closed and reshelved it. She noticed Perry watching her and smiled in his direction. He raised his hand in greeting, and she did the same before walking toward the delicate spiral of stairs in the corner. Her heels clicked quietly on the iron as she descended, her plaid skirt swirling around her as she disappeared from view.

He felt like he'd seen her around. It was possible...his eyes often registered things his mind at first dismissed, only to present it later when he least expected it.

Curious. Perry's watch alarm suddenly buzzed, and he silenced it quickly—time for class.

00

Saturday. For most, it meant a trip to the beach or a drive up the coast with a special someone tucked under an arm or snuggled up on the seat beside. For Perry, it meant more time in the library. He flipped through the card catalogue and started hunting down the book he needed. Rounding a corner, he nearly tripped over someone—her, the girl in the plaid. She was crouched on the floor running her finger across the bottom shelf, and she looked up in surprise as Perry stopped just short of stepping on her.

"Pardon me," he whispered, stepping around her. She nodded politely, watched him as he passed and went back to her search.

He went down to the far end of the row they were both occupying and pulled out the book he was searching for. He returned to his table for a few minutes before getting up again in search of another book.

She was there, in the row he needed. To avoid frightening her, he chose the next row, placing himself approximately across from her. He chose a book at eye level and removed it. He peeked through the opening to wait for her to leave—her eyes drifted up from her reading to meet his through the shelf.

"Pardon me," he whispered again, replacing the book quickly. He'd done this so she didn't think he was following her, and he'd probably gone and done exactly the opposite.

When she turned up beside him for a third time, he had to wonder-was she following him?


	2. Chapter 2

Della Street sat beneath a shade tree, a novel open on her lap as she finished her lunch between sessions. Arlene, Della's roommate, was on the other side of the tree with a mutual friend: a private detective named Paul Drake. Della was doing her best to ignore their flirty conversation and the sound of their stolen kisses. Paul was like a brother to her. A confidant, protector, and sometimes, an absolute embarrassment.

The clock in the tower at the end of the green chimed noon.

"I'll see you at home tonight, Della," Arlene said, applying a fresh coat of lipstick and gathering her books.

Della glanced up and nodded. As Arlene set off toward the secretarial school, Paul came around to her side of the tree.

"You've got a little something on your cheek," Della deadpanned, looking at Arlene's lipstick smeared across his chin. She fished her compact from her purse and passed it to him.

The quad was growing busier as people left class or hurried to another. Della watched the comers and goers.

"What are you doing Saturday night?" Paul asked, passing back her compact and stuffing his lipstick covered handkerchief into his pocket.

"It's not going to work, Paul," Della chided. He'd asked her on a date hundreds of times before, but Della had always turned him down.

"Can't blame a guy for trying," he returned. This repartee was common between them now.

"You certainly do your share of trying with everyone else. I'm surprised you have the energy left to chase me," Della teased.

Paul chuckled. "I know you're too good for me, Della Street. In fact, I'd like to meet the man who is good enough for you."

A sly smile crept across her face.

"Say I knew of someone who was good enough for me. Could you track him down and arrange a meeting?"

Paul considered the offer with mock seriousness. "I am a detective, you know. What's in it for me?"

"I was planning on going to the pictures this Saturday. You come too. I'll buy the popcorn."

"Deal. Now, who is this Superman?"

Della nodded across the green to where a stern man with ice-colored eyes was walking toward the law library with a leather folio under his arm. "Him."

00

The table in the library facing the stacks was his home now, what with the bar exam so quickly approaching. Night after night, he spent late hours studying at the table under the green glass lamp. On a few occasions, he thought he saw her, the girl in the plaid, but he was never sure, and the stress of his upcoming exam was too much to push aside his work and find her.

Finally, one evening in May, Perry's old friend, Paul Drake, convinced him to come to a club downtown for dinner and an evening away from the books.

Paul, who was a few years Perry's senior, took great pleasure in having a new girl on his arm every week. And he seemed to take equal pleasure in matching Perry up with one of his rejects-the one that wasn't quite tall enough or quite blonde enough, often the friend or roommate of Paul's date who seemed just as disheartened about being pushed onto a stranger as Perry was to have a stranger pushed onto him. Sure, they were all sweet or funny or pretty, but Perry didn't ever have anything in common with them, except their desire to leave the awkward evening firmly in the past. He'd buy them a drink, give them a dance or two, and then offer to hail them a cab. Usually, they were grateful that he took the easy out.

"Come on, Perry, you're dragging your feet. We were supposed to meet Theresa and the rest of the girls 10 minutes ago. I've got a bombshell for you tonight, Perry."

"Look, Paul, I agreed to come because I need a break, not to date one of your cast offs," Perry protested.

"Ah, that's where you're wrong, pal. This girl isn't second to anyone. She won't even go out with me," Paul admitted.

"Well, at least she's got sense," Perry ribbed as they waited at the maitre d' stand.

"I'll ignore that for now," Paul dismissed with a roll of his eyes. "I think you two might really go for each other. She's quiet. Focused, real driven. Independent."

"Sounds like my old hound dog," Perry remarked.

"Hilarious," Paul deferred with no emotion. "Keep that up, though. She's got a thing for bad humor. She's pretty funny, too, once you get to know her. And, she's been spending some time at the law school for her secretarial school. Great girl."

"Every time you tell me they're great girls, they end up looking a lot like my old hound dog," Perry accused.

"I told you, Perry, she's a bombshell. Just wait, the girls are right over there."

A willowy red-head greeted Paul with a kiss. "I was beginning to worry you'd gotten lost," she whispered flirtatiously, fingering Paul's lapel.

"Had to dig up the weeds around Mason, here. He's been spending too much time hitting the books," Paul excused, holding the woman close. "Perry, Theresa Walcott. Theresa, Perry Mason."

Perry greeted the woman politely, looking down the bar to see if he could pick out his unfortunate companion for the evening.

Paul worked his way down the line of Theresa's friends, greeting each one of them with innocent flirtations. Then, he got to the one on the end.

"Hi, Beautiful," he greeted with a friendly smile.

"Hello, Paul," she replied in a low alto. Perry recognized her before she turned.

"Perry, this is Miss Della Street."

"Pleasure," Della greeted.

"The pleasure is mine," Perry replied. "A dance?" She acquiesced, and they made their way to the floor.

"I knew you looked familiar," Della said when they'd found the rhythm of the two-step. "We've run into each other in the law library before." Her words were innocent, her tone dripping with playful sarcasm that matched the cheeky grin on her face.

Perry cocked an eyebrow, amused by her teasing. "I'm studying for the bar exam at the end of the month. What brings you to the law library?"

"I'm studying to be a confidential secretary, and attorneys often employ such staff. It's good to have the knowledge of how a law library is arranged, should I find myself working for a law firm."

"Very interesting," Perry mused. "Are you any good? As a secretary, I mean?"

Della laughed good-naturedly. "They say lawyers don't mince words, and they're right," she teased. "I'd like to think I'm worth my salt."

"I have a job in a firm on 84th Avenue, so long as I pass the bar. I'll be looking for a confidential secretary. That is—unless someone has already secured your services."

Della laughed once again—Perry was delighted by how easy it was to get her to make the musical sound. "I haven't finished my classes yet."

"Neither have I. But you seem as confident in your abilities as I do in mine, so we'd at least be evenly matched there."

"I suppose," Della returned. This simple, droll banter between them came as easily as verbal sparring did in court, and he derived just as much pleasure from going back-and-forth with her as he did with his colleagues.

"Does that mean you'll consider my offer, then?"

"That depends."

"On?"

"As a confidential secretary, I expect to be treated with respect. I know what I'm doing when it comes to managing an office. You do your job; I'll do mine. I run a tight ship," she promised, equal parts smiling and serious.

Perry nodded. "I think I can abide by those conditions. There will potentially be late nights, long days in court...I'd need you with me often."

Della considered this for a moment. "As long as you feed me," she conceded, the sparks in her eyes dancing spiritedly.

Perry laughed. "I'll draw up a contract as soon as I hear from the bar association."

The song ended, and the couple turned momentarily to clap for the band.

When they returned to the table, Della fished for something in her handbag, producing a small pad of paper and a pen. "Here's my address. You can mail the contract there. And here's my telephone number, just in case you should happen to need anything before then," Della replied flirtatiously, passing him the slip of paper. "Best of luck on the bar exam. Good evening, counselor."


	3. Chapter 3

Normally, it was obvious from all the way across the nightclub that Perry and his date weren't going to work out. Perry Mason was brilliant, certainly, but...awkward. He was a sixty year old soul in a twenty-something's body. Nightclubs and leggy women usually set him on an uncomfortable edge. Seeing him tonight, dancing with Della, one would never guess.

And Della, she was sweet but shy. Oh, she had guts and plenty of vinegar, but she saved that for arguments that were worth winning. There was something else that set Della Street apart from the rest of her compatriots-she was determined to be her own person. She'd never become Mrs. Joe Somebody, the quiet little wife who stayed home and raised a brood of children. She was determined to live her own life: live without a roommate to help with the rent, work a job that covered her bills, and have a career that fulfilled her instead of just keeping her busy. Most men didn't respect that, and Della wasn't about to set her ideals aside to make a man feel more manly for an evening. That, Della had made unquestionably clear to Paul.

There was stern, solemn Perry, and there was unpredictable, independent Della...but together, they seemed...well, whatever they were together, it frightened Paul just a little. Their gazes both turned on him as they walked back through the crowd. Steely blue and unwavering brown...Paul wondered if he'd made a mistake by introducing them.

Perry put his arm on Della's arm to guide her carefully through the crowd and protect her from being jostled by the crowd of dancers. She turned and said something to him that made them both laugh.

Either a dangerous mistake, or the greatest match of all time.

00

"How'd it go?" Paul asked hopefully. Perry held up the paper with her address and phone number. Paul broke into a devilish grin. "I knew you were perfect for each other," he gloated.

"You were right. I hired her."

Paul's face contorted in confusion. "You...hired her?"

"I'm a lawyer in need of a confidential secretary. She's a confidential secretary in need of a job. Rather perfect arrangement, don't you think?"

Paul scrubbed a hand over his face. "Did you at least kiss her goodnight?"

Perry smirked. "That would have been very unprofessional."

00

Perry kept that little slip of paper covered in neat, even writing in his pocket all week. It was there as he stood in the hall outside the testing room, holding the little card in his hand. He hardly believed his hard work had paid off.

MASON, P: PASS.

He wanted to celebrate, and he'd found her phone number right beside the dime he was going to put in the payphone. He'd asked her to meet him at the diner down the block, and now he was waiting for her in a booth. She slid in across from him after greeting the man behind the soda counter.

"Congratulations, Counselor."

He beamed at her. "Thank you. We'll start at the firm on Monday as planned," he confirmed.

"I'll put in my notice when we're through here," she said happily.

"Howdy, Della," a waitress greeted on her way by as Della waved.

"Do you come here often?" Perry asked conversationally as they waited for a server to come by for their order.

Della gave him a strange look. "You...might say that."

"Evening, Ms. Street," said the waiter coming up beside the table. "Sir. What can I bring for you?"

"Two slices of your finest apple pie with ice cream, please," Perry requested of the waiter.

"Miss Della's specialty," he assured, throwing a smile at Della as he walked toward the kitchen.

"The pie here is quite good," Perry said, "though you must know that."

"Well, ever since that day last fall, I've been making the apple pies regularly," Della confirmed. Perry blinked at her. "You know, the day you came in here a few hours before closing?" she reminded. He drew a blank. Perhaps the test had fried his brain?

"I've come in a few times for pie…" he said.

"I know that. I've waited on you several times," she reminded. Perry looked around like he was seeing the place for the first time.

"Are you certain?"

"Quite," Della replied. "You drink black coffee. About a cup every 20 minutes. You usually take that booth," she added, pointing to the booth along the wall with the tin-shaded lamp hanging directly over it.

"Hmm…" Perry murmured, leaning back as the waiter placed two plates of pie on the table.

They made conversation as they ate their pie-it was easier to talk to Della than it was with anyone he'd ever met.

When their plates were clean and their coffee had been refreshed a handful of times, Perry checked his watch.

"Can I walk you home?" he offered, fishing in his pocket for his billfold.

"Yes, please," she agreed, startled to find that it had grown dark while they sat entranced in each other's presence.

Perry extracted the items along with peppermint wrappers and bits of scrap paper.

"Give me those," Della demanded. If there was anything that this afternoon had proved to her, it was that Perry Mason needed someone to tighten up his ship. She plucked the junk from his hands. "I'll run into the kitchen and throw this away, and turn in my notice at the same time," Della explained.

"Okay. Oh, wait, I need that," Perry said, reaching out and plucking one of the folded papers from her hand. He opened it and held it up for her review: a small square of paper with her name, address, and phone number written on it in her curved handwriting. "That's my good luck charm."

_AN: Thanks for reading! Drop me a review and stop by organanation on tumblr for lots of other PerryxDella goodness!_


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